Art Thief (Heart Thief)
by The Lady Arturia
Summary: On Hannah's recommendation, Harry decides to attend art classes to help with his delayed-onset PTSD. To his surprise, he isn't the only one that decided to turn to art as a means of respite. A Drarry one-shot set over 11 weeks.


_For Lizzy_

* * *

 **Art Thief (Heart Thief)**

* * *

 **(Week 1)**

 _Surprise yourself._

That's what Hannah had told him when she'd scribbled down an address on her floral notepad and given it to him.

 _You never know what you'll end up finding._

He couldn't really argue with her logic, or her concern for his rapidly spiraling mental health, but he had taken an oath when the war had ended: no more surprises.

No more unexpected twists. No more extraordinary life events. No more anything that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Unfortunately, none of it had worked out as he had wanted, considering the past decade as an Auror.

Which is why he had finally caved to Ron and Hermione's insistence that he take a break and cashed in all his vacation days. Three months worth of them.

And now, here he was, standing before a pretty archway that had creepers blooming with delicate lavender flowers twining around it all the way down to the intricate metal gate. The path from the gate led to a lush garden that disappeared around a small townhouse, the windows of which looked like the stained glass windows in churches—or the Prefects' bathroom in Hogwarts, but that brought back too many emotions and memories that he wanted to avoid.

He inhaled deeply, steeling himself to enter, when a familiar voice called out to him.

"Potter?"

The hair on his arms rose as his skin broke out in gooseflesh. His heart beginning to race, he slowly turned to come face-to-face with a certain platinum-blond haired man who was one of the many antagonists featuring in his nightmares. His gaze dropped down to the large canvas in his hands as well as the tote bag full of paint brushes and palettes hanging from his shoulder, Hannah's words echoing in his ears, except this time as a mocking impression, courtesy of his bitter conscience.

 _You never know what you'll end up finding._

Before he could think of something to say, the gate squeaked, and both men turned to see a woman step out, her curly blonde hair half tucked into one side of her coat's upturned collar and a scarf dangling over one arm. Wide blue eyes looked between them, and she gasped.

"Oh my goodness, I completely forgot!" She stepped towards him and held her hand out. "You must be Harry! I'm Elise. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure's mine," Harry said, somewhat distracted by the blond, who had come to stand beside him.

Elise turned to the other man and clutched his hands, her expression pleading. "Oh, Draco, I'm so sorry to do this to you again, but can you _please_ help Harry settle in? I promise I'll be back as soon as I can. Adam's school just called and said he got into a fight with someone again so I have to go meet with the principal. I really am sorry about this!"

She turned to Harry with the same pleading expression. "I'm terribly sorry to do this on your first day, Harry, but I wouldn't be leaving if it wasn't an absolute emergency."

"No, of course, please," Harry said, stepping away and motioning with his hand. "Your son's more important."

"Draco'll take perfectly good care of you, I promise," she said while walking backwards. "He's an absolute gem!" She opened the door of her car and waved to them as she called, "Sorry, and thank you!"

Harry watched her drive away, sighing in resignation as he turned back to the other man.

"What're you doing here, Malfoy?"

Malfoy had the sense to look sheepish as he scratched his ear and nodded towards the townhouse. "I come here some days to help Elise with her classes."

"You, helping a Muggle? That's unheard of."

There was no real malice in Harry's voice, but Malfoy grimaced nevertheless, refusing to meet Harry's eyes.

"Well, yeah. I suppose it is."

He didn't offer any more of an explanation, and Harry didn't ask. The blond finally motioned to the gate.

"Shall we?"

Harry bit back a sigh as he watched the blond enter the quaint suburban residence. Sure, he had decided to take Hannah up on her offer to put him onto a Muggle friend of hers whose art classes had greatly helped Hannah with her PTSD, but he was certain he didn't remember her mentioning that a particular blond-haired, grey-eyed man would be there as well.

 _Surprise yourself, Harry,_ he told himself as he gritted his teeth and stepped through the gate. _Maybe it won't be as bad as you think._

* * *

 **(Week 2)**

The art class turned out to be much better than he had anticipated. He had never been drawn to anything artsy back in his school days, or as a child, for that matter, but that had more to do with the Dursleys' refusal to waste paper and crayons on him than his personal interest.

Now, as he sat at his little art station, complete with an easel and a rollable shelf for his materials, he found he was able to lose himself in the process, never registering how much time went by when he was focused solely on painting and nothing else.

He had initially worried that it would give his mind the opportunity to wander, but that wasn't the case at all. He got so immersed in perfecting the minute details in his artwork that he didn't have the luxury of thinking unnecessary thoughts.

"Wow, you're doing a great job." The voice startled him, his heart racing as Malfoy leant over his shoulder to examine the piece he was painting. "Have you done this before?"

"No," Harry replied flatly. "I was never much of a painter."

Malfoy hummed in response. "I find that hard to believe, considering what an incredible job you're doing at using such an advanced technique."

Harry frowned, his cheeks burning from the unexpected compliment. "What do you mean?"

Malfoy reached out and let his finger trail down the centre of the vase Harry was painting. "Your usage of negative space here is excellent. You've managed to capture the exact shape and dimensions of the vase just by manipulating the colours around it."

"Well," Harry began with a shrug, "the vase is translucent, so I thought it would be easier to just paint around it."

Malfoy smiled and patted him on the shoulder, and it caught Harry so off guard that he nearly fell out of his stool.

"Keep up the good work," Malfoy said before moving on to the boy sitting a little way away, leaving Harry staring after him with his mouth hanging open.

Since when did Malfoy smile and compliment people and pat them on that back for a job well done? Who _was_ this man?

Harry turned back to eye his painting, his cheeks still warm. Although he didn't want to admit it, Malfoy's compliment had lightened his mood to a great extent. So much so that he found his eyes trailing after the blond every chance he got.

Maybe he had misjudged the other man. It had been a decade since the war, after all. He was the idiot for having expected Malfoy to be the same snarky teenager he had been.

* * *

 **(Week 3)**

By the third week, Harry had decided to change his attendance from one class a week to two. He hadn't expected to enjoy painting as much as he did, and it was those several hours in the little townhouse or outside in the garden that brought him the most joy and peace of mind.

He had also come to realise that Malfoy practically co-ran the art classes due to how often Elise had to leave because her son had caused trouble in school.

"I'm so sorry that I've hardly been around," she told Harry one day. "Adam, he's on the Spectrum, and he knows that I take these classes and hates that there are strangers in his house every week so he keeps throwing tantrums in the hopes that I'll cancel them." She sighed, shaking her head. "It's not easy being a single mother and raising a child with special needs while working two jobs and trying to make ends meet."

She seemed to realise that she was burdening a stranger with very personal details of her life and laughed awkwardly. "I'm so sorry for oversharing. It just helps if I can get it off my chest."

"No, that's quite alright," Harry offered graciously. "Besides, Mal—Draco does a great job when you're not around."

"Oh, he's absolutely _wonderful,_ isn't he?" Elise gushed, watching Draco teach Brian—the twelve-year-old genius who was homeschooled—starry-eyed and glowing with affection. "He's such a great help. He does it for free, you know? Refuses to let me compensate him for his share of work. He's truly Godsent."

It was then Harry realised that Elise probably _liked_ Malfoy, and if the blond had managed to get a Muggle to fall in love with him because of how genuine his kindness was, then Harry had definitely misunderstood the man. He decided to speak with Malfoy after class that day to try and make amends.

"Er, hi," Harry said, standing in front of Malfoy's desk.

The blond looked up with a smile and said, "Hey. What can I do for you?"

"I, uh, I just…" Harry trailed off, scratching his ear in embarrassment, suddenly feeling awkward. "I just wanted to apologise to you if I've treated you badly in the past few weeks."

Malfoy's smile was tentative but his eyes were wide and glowing. For a moment, he seemed to just stare at Harry, then he started rummaging around on his desk before holding out a piece of paper. Harry took it and stared at it in confusion.

"What's this?"

"My acceptance of your apology." Malfoy nodded at the sketch of Harry painting. "I sometimes like to sketch the students while they're painting, to capture how immersed they get in their art."

Harry eyed the way his charcoal counterpart's brows were furrowed and his lips were jutted out in a weird pout. "I didn't know I scrunched my face up like that when I concentrate," he admitted, embarrassed.

Malfoy chuckled. "It just shows how much you enjoy painting."

Harry nodded and held up the drawing. "Well, uh, thanks for this. And for accepting my apology."

"No problem." Malfoy smiled, and Harry decided that he liked that expression on the man. "Thanks for apologising."

Harry dawdled for a few more seconds, awkward, before muttering a quick goodbye and making his way back to his art station. He placed the drawing in his bag carefully and hoisted it onto his shoulder, letting out a startled sound when he turned and found Malfoy standing behind him.

"I, uh," Malfoy said, struggling to say whatever he wanted to in much the same way Harry had, "I just wanted to…" he trailed off, and just as Harry wondered what he wanted, he stuck his hand out, cleared his throat, and said, "Hi, I'm Draco. It's nice to meet you."

Harry stared at the outstretched hand, taken back to when they were eleven. Before he could overthink it, Harry reached out and shook Malfo—Draco's hand. "Hi, Draco," he said, "I'm Harry. It's nice to meet you too."

Draco's laugh was somewhat breathless and his ears were bright red. Harry's own cheeks were burning from embarrassment, and both men quickly dropped their hands, looking around awkwardly.

"Oh, would you look at the time," Draco said, giving Harry the perfect escape from the situation.

"Is that really the time?" he said, and after a quick but awkward exchange of goodbyes, the two exited the little townhouse.

Harry glanced down at his hand as they made their way out, his palm warm, and found himself smiling.

* * *

 **(Week 4)**

Harry found himself stealing glances at Draco every now and then, and when he finally ended up making eye contact with the blond, he looked away in embarrassment, mortified at having been caught red-handed. He had thought about it all week and had decided that if he wanted to get over the past once and for all, the best way to do it would be to befriend Draco.

Which of course meant he had to ask the other man out for a drink or something, the prospect of which was making him far more anxious than the thought of fighting Voldemort all over again. The class had ended, but Harry still hadn't plucked up the courage to invite the blond out.

"Hey."

Harry's breath caught in his throat as he looked up at Draco standing beside his easel.

"Are you enjoying the classes?" Draco asked, to which Harry nodded.

"Yeah, they're really great. I'm having lots of fun; thanks for asking."

"That's good to hear."

They lapsed into awkward silence before Draco cleared his throat and started to say, "Well, I guess I'll see you next we—"

"Do you wanna grab a drink with me?" Harry blurted out before he could stop himself. "If you're free," he added quickly, seeing the way the blond's eyes widened. "Maybe next week?"

"I, uh…"

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Harry said, holding his hands up, cursing himself for being so blunt.

"No, no, I'd love to," Draco said quickly, and Harry noted that his ears were bright red again. "I just—I was surprised that you asked because that's why I came here and I sorta chickened out, so…"

Harry blinked. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"So… uh…" he pointed at the door. "I guess I'll see you next week?"

Draco's smile was shy but genuine. "Sure."

* * *

 **(Week 5)**

"Sorry for surprising you by suddenly asking you out," Harry said as they sat at the bar.

"Please don't apologise," Draco replied, taking a sip of his Margherita—a drink Harry would've never imagined the blond to favour. "I'm glad you did."

Harry swirled his beer for a moment before turning back to the blond. "How'd you find out about Elise's art classes?"

Draco eyed his Margherita for a long moment, a faint smile on his face. "Her mother takes advanced meditation classes that my mother has been going to for years. I've known Elise for a very long time, now. How do you think Hannah found out about them?"

Harry's eyebrows were up so high, it felt like his face would permanently remain stretched. "You're friends with Hannah?"

Draco shrugged. "Hannah and Theo are childhood friends, believe it or not. Their families used to be the closest amongst the Sacred Twenty Eight—that was until the Dark Lord forced them on to opposing sides. Hannah and Theo never spoke for the majority of their time at Hogwarts, but Theo reached out to her after the war and they reconnected. That's how I befriended Hannah." He took another sip of his drink. "She's a wonderful person."

Harry nodded, turning back to his beer as he processed Draco's words. A sudden thought occurred to him, then. "But… how does your mother know Elise's? Aren't they Muggles?"

The corners of Draco's mouth tugged upwards in a smirk. He raised an eyebrow. "Really, Potter? You still haven't figured it out? Some Auror you must've been."

Harry bristled at that, surprised yet somewhat relieved to see the Draco Malfoy he knew so well make a comeback. "I'm on break right now," Harry replied lamely, to which Draco laughed.

"Elise is a Squib, Harry. Her mother is Elisabeth Fawley."

"Fawley? Like ex-Minister-of-Magic Hector Fawley?"

"That's the one."

Harry scoffed, shaking his head, stunned. "Some childhood she must've had, being a Squib born into one of the Sacred Twenty Eight."

Draco shrugged. "It's not that uncommon. One of Mother's great uncles was a Squib."

"Right."

They lapsed into silence then, each slipping into their own thoughts, until they decided to call it a night.

* * *

 **(Week 6)**

"Hey, listen," Draco said as they exited the class together. "How would you feel about—" he shook his head, cutting himself off. "No, never mind."

"What is it?" Harry urged, now curious.

Draco eyed him for a long moment, the conflict swirling in his stormy eyes. Finally, he inhaled a deep breath and asked, "How would you feel about coming over to Malfoy Manor next week?"

"Uh…" Harry responded, not having expected that to be the question.

"No, you're right," Draco said, waving a hand. "It was inconsiderate of me to ask."

"What's next week?" Harry said instead.

Draco shrugged, refusing to meet Harry's eyes. "My birthday."

Harry's eyes widened. "What! You should've started with that!" When Draco frowned at him, he laughed, shaking his head, and said, "Of course I'll come."

Draco stared at Harry, as though trying to decide if he had any ulterior motives to accepting. "You will?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Harry shrugged. "For the same reason you asked."

Draco nodded slowly. "Fair enough." After a moment, the smile returned to his face. "Well, then, thanks for accepting my invitation."

"Thanks for inviting me."

"You will, of course, be receiving an official invite via owl post."

Harry laughed. "Of course I will."

Draco turned to eye the overcast sky, the smile still in place, and Harry felt a rush of emotion overcome him. He turned away, swallowing down the lump in his throat. It was going to be alright. This was just another step in overcoming his fears and trauma.

* * *

 **(Week 7)**

He had, as promised, received a very formal-looking invitation the next day, and after some deliberation, Harry had decided what he would gift Draco. It was the most embarrassing idea ever, but Harry had made up his mind to do all the things he would've never done before—like befriending Draco Malfoy or attending his birthday party—and so, resolute, he went ahead with his plan.

The day before the big day, Hannah had rung him up to inform him, much to his immense relief, that she would be attending the birthday party as well. So, at half past six, Hannah and Harry took the Floo to Malfoy Manor.

A House-elf led them to where the party was being held, and, as he entered, Harry stopped dead in his tracks. The large drawing room looked exactly as it had a decade prior, and Harry found his airway constricting as memories of the horrible events that transpired there flashed through his mind.

"Harry," someone said, and he opened his eyes—that he hadn't realised he had closed—to see a worried Draco standing before him. "Are you alright?"

"Ye—No." He shook his head. "I'm sorry; I just need a minute."

"That's alright," Draco said, squeezing his arm. "I should've been more considerate; I'm sorry."

"This." Harry held out a large, rectangular, gift-wrapped object. "Happy birthday."

"You didn't have to," Draco said, but Harry all but shoved the present into his hands.

Doing all that he could to control his thundering heart and his heavy breathing, Harry caught Hannah's eyes, and she rushed over.

"Harry, what is it? Are you alright? Do you want to sit down?"

Harry nodded, and Hannah and Draco exchanged glances before she led Harry to a far lounge and helped him get comfortable. "I'll bring you some water," she said and rushed off.

When Draco arrived, looking anxious and very distraught, Harry felt bad. The blond's intentions for inviting him over had been pure. He knew that. He had anticipated that it would be difficult, but he hadn't expected it to have that much of an impact on him. He felt like he should be the one apologising.

"Can I get you anything?" Draco asked.

"Your strongest alcohol." When the blond started to argue, Harry said, "I _want_ to be here, Draco. But I need something to calm my nerves. I won't ruin your birthday, I promise."

Draco looked unsure but nodded and left, and Harry finally looked around the room.

He recognised the majority of the faces there—most had hardly changed since he had seen them over a decade ago—and when his eyes finally landed on Narcissa Malfoy, his insides seemed to clench and his chest seemed to fold in on itself.

Harry gasped out, reliving the moment in the Forbidden Forest when he had nearly died, feeling like he would pass out. Hannah was by his side in the next moment, helping him drink the water, and Draco was back some time after with two bottles—one bottle of firewhiskey and one of wine.

 _You can do this,_ Harry told himself as he gulped down the water. _You have to._

Several glasses of firewhiskey and wine later, he had managed to socialise to a basic extent, relying on Hannah to do most of the talking, and with every moment that went past, he found the annoying niggle in the back of his mind growing bigger and bigger.

He needed to speak with Narcissa Malfoy.

When Draco finally came over to where he was, at a far table, staring at Narcissa, Harry said, "I need to talk to your mother."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "What about?"

"I just—I have to talk to her, OK?"

Draco frowned at the urgency in his tone and crossed his arms. "Look, Harry, I know you're having a difficult time, but I don't think it's the wisest decision to let you speak with my mother in your current state."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You can come too, if that'll make you feel better."

"I—"

"Just let me talk to her for five minutes, OK?"

Draco eyed him for a long moment before jerking his chin to the side. "Alright, let's go. But, fair warning: if you say or do anything inappropriate, I'm going to have to hex you."

"I'm not that drunk," Harry muttered, although, when he rose to his feet, his body made it abundantly clear that he was wrong. He swallowed down the bile and inhaled a steadying breath. "Alright, let's do this."

They stopped a little way away from where Narcissa and Lucius were having an animated conversation with Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini. Draco went over to have a quick, very hushed conversation with his mother, who turned to eye Harry curiously before they both made their way over to where he was.

"Good evening, Mr Potter," Narcissa said, ever polite. "It's good to see that you're well."

"Please, call me Harry, Mrs Malfoy," Harry said, mentally cheering at the fact that his words weren't slurred.

Narcissa smiled. "Alright then, Harry. Draco tells me you have something to say to me?"

Harry inhaled deeply and held the breath, letting it out in a deep sigh. "I…" he began, struggling to string together what he wanted to say. Narcissa waited patiently. Harry swallowed and tried again. "I realise I never actually thanked you for what you did," he said in a rush, realising his voice was a little too loud and that the people nearby were now listening in on their conversation.

Narcissa's smile faltered, and Draco frowned. Harry pressed on. "For what you did in the Forbidden Forest that night," Harry continued, his mind whirling from the alcohol and the emotional turmoil and having to endure standing below the chandelier that had replaced the one that had shattered when he had escaped that room so long ago.

 _This is where Hermione was,_ his mind supplied unhelpfully, but he ignored it. That wasn't his main focus. His main focus was getting across his genuine gratitude to Narcissa Malfoy.

"Thank you," he said, breathless, "for saving my life. I've always wanted to tell you that."

Narcissa's eyes were glassy, the tears threatening to spill out, but she continued to watch him without blinking. Finally, she said, so quiet that he almost missed it in his drunken state, "You assured me of Draco's safety. I only did what any mother would do." She blinked away her tears and cleared her throat, the smile returning to her face. "In fact, I should be the one to thank you, for saving us all."

"No," Harry said, perhaps a little too forcefully because both Draco and Narcissa started. "What I did…the fact that I managed to put an end to Voldemort...that was pure luck. But what you did, your dangerous choice to lie to Voldemort and risk your and your family's lives to save mine...that's something I'll never forget." He shook his head, his chest tight and a lump in his throat. "You didn't just save me, you saved all of Britain. If not for you, we'd all be dead and Voldemort would've continued his reign of terror. So please," his voice broke, "don't undermine what you did. Because it's the bravest thing I have ever seen anybody do, and I will never stop being grateful to you for saving my life."

Narcissa exhaled a shaky breath, the tears now spilling down her cheeks. She reached up to clasp Harry's face in her hands and pressed a kiss to his forehead. When she pulled away, she laughed and shook her head. "Thank you for saying that," she paused for a moment, "Harry."

He smiled and nodded, sniffing, and with a quick swipe of her sleeve across her face, so quick that it shocked Harry when she looked just as composed as ever a moment later, she squeezed his hand and said, "Excuse me, but I need to go… powder my nose."

Harry watched her leave, then turned to take in the people staring at him, their expressions ranging from stunned to teary-eyed to painfully stoic (in Lucius' case). Harry's eyes finally landed on Draco, whose cheeks were flushed and eyes were moist.

"Sorry," Harry said, smiling sheepishly. "I took longer than five minutes."

"No," Draco said, his voice raspy. "Thank you for that. I couldn't have asked for a better birthday present."

* * *

 **(Week 8)**

He had a lot of time to think about what had happened in Malfoy Manor. He was glad he had told Narcissa what he did because it gave him a sense of closure. The fact that he had survived the visit to that drawing room also helped him feel like he had grown stronger, even if he was in no hurry to visit it again.

The biggest realisation, however, had been that his relationship with Draco had most definitely changed. He was unsure if they were friends yet, but he was certain they were no longer nemeses or acquaintances. Whatever the change was, he was certain if was for the better.

Everything would be fine.

Which is what he had thought until he went to class the next week and watched Draco walk across the garden to him. A bubble of nervousness blossomed in his stomach and spread to his chest, making him feel breathless. He noticed what was in the blond's hands a moment too late because Draco was already standing before him, holding up the gift Harry had given him.

"I felt like the least I could do was open this with you," he said timidly. "Unless you don't want to. I just thought—"

"It's fine," Harry said, more out of obligation than anything because, as Draco began to rip away the paper, the embarrassment began to set in.

As he watched Draco eye the painting, he felt his face grow hot and wished a hole would open up under him and swallow him.

"What is this," Draco breathed. "It's beautiful." He turned to eye Harry. "Thank you for this."

Harry nodded and cleared his throat. He finally chanced a glance at the painting and couldn't help but feel rather proud of how well it had turned out.

It was a simple watercolour piece of Draco sitting in the garden and painting right after the rain. The colours had been so brilliant in contrast to Draco's light hair and clothes and fair complexion that Harry had the urge to capture it in a painting. He had understood then what Draco had meant by wanting to show his students how much they enjoyed painting.

"I messed up a little here," Harry confessed, moving closer to point at an area that was slightly smudged. "I tried to cover it up but I don't think I did a very good job."

"No, you did a wonderful job. I've never received anything like it."

Harry beamed. "I'm glad you like it, then."

Draco looked up at him, and there was something in his eyes, like he was seeing Harry for the very first time, that made Harry's heart race. He couldn't say he had expected it when Draco leant forward to press his lips to Harry's, but he couldn't say he was taken completely by surprise either.

The blond pulled away a moment later, laughing awkwardly, and Harry watched as his ears turned a bright red. Throwing caution to the wind, he grabbed Draco by the elbow and pulled him forward, caressing his cheek as he kissed him.

Unlike all his other kisses, where his heart erupted in a frenzy and all his senses were screaming from the rush of adrenaline, this time it was as though time had slowed. The world around him had fallen silent—even the wind dared not blow by; his heartbeat slowed, his breathing deepened, his skin felt pleasantly warm. Then they broke apart, and everything jumped to life all at once, cascading over each other in a rush of frenzied brushstrokes and splashes of colour.

They stood with their faces close, looking into each other's eyes for a long moment before Draco stepped back, turned on his heel, and walked away.

* * *

 **(Week 9)**

For the first time since he had joined, Harry didn't go to class.

Instead, he visited Hannah down at the pub and threw back a couple beers. When she asked him if he was feeling better since the party, he gave her a vague answer and changed the subject.

Once the sun had set and Hannah had decided that Harry had had enough to drink, he shuffled home, morose and forlorn, feeling like a large chunk of colour from his life had disappeared. He realised that the art classes genuinely made him happy and that he would be miserable if he didn't go to them just because he was avoiding Draco.

So he made up his mind to go the next week, even if it meant an awkward encounter with the blond.

* * *

 **(Week 10)**

Draco cornered Harry the moment he entered. "You didn't come last week."

Harry sighed. He looked around to ensure no one else was in earshot before he responded. "You kissed me and then ran away. What else was I supposed to do?"

Draco ran a hand through his hair. "That has nothing to do with you attending class."

Harry nodded. "That's true. Which is why I came today."

"Oh. OK."

"Yeah."

"Oh, good, Harry's here!" Elise exclaimed as she came in just then. "Perfect timing! Are we ready to do something different today?" she said as she led them out into the garden.

Harry watched Draco from across the garden, openly staring at him without a care in the world. He didn't know whether to be angry at the blond for kissing him first and then running away or be happy that Draco was also attracted to him.

He didn't know what it was. There was something about that quaint little townhouse that created a bubble to separate them from the rest of the world. There, he felt at peace. It had quickly become his haven.

Did Draco feel the same way? Is that why he had run away? Was he afraid he would destroy the sanctity of the place?

"You know, he's not going to know what you're thinking even if you stare at him all day long."

Harry glared at Brian. "Thanks for the advice, brat."

Brian smirked. "You're welcome, old man."

Harry turned back to look at Draco, his breath hitching when their eyes met. Even from across the garden, Harry could see the way the blond's ears turned red when he looked away.

* * *

 **(Week 11)**

"I think I like you."

Draco stared at him, his brush paused inches away from the canvas. Harry took in the paint splatters on the wide-necked shirt he had chosen to wear that day. He reached over to rub a bit of blue paint off of Draco's chin.

He began to walk away when Draco grabbed his wrist and asked, "Don't you want an answer?"

Harry shrugged. "It wasn't a question."

He had nearly walked out when Draco caught up to him. "I still want to give you an answer."

Harry turned to face him. "Do you trust me?"

"What?"

"Do you trust me?"

Draco frowned. "I don't know."

Harry scoffed. He held out a hand. "Just trust me."

Draco hesitated, and Harry reached out and grabbed Draco's hand. "Seriously, what're you so afraid of?"

Draco stared at their clasped hands and refused to meet Harry's eyes. "Stuff."

"Me too."

Draco finally looked up at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Draco nodded and inhaled deeply. "I think I like you too."

Harry grinned. "Good."

Draco's ears turned a bright red.

* * *

 **Hogwarts Assignment #4**

— **Task #4 The Blitz:** Alt: Set a fic over eleven weeks.

 **Writing Club:**

— **Jungle Book:** **Trust In Me - Use the dialogue; "Just trust me."**

— **SHowtime:** **Masquerade - (dialogue) "What are you afraid of?"**

— **Amber's Attic: 12. "Let's fall in love as if the world is on fire, and there is nothing left but ash and us."**

— **Count Your Buttons: Surprise Yourself - Jack Garratt, Jumper, "Is that really the time?"**

— **Lyric Alley:** **Turn it around, get a rewrite**

— **Lo's Lowdown: Sokka - write about a Squib.**

— **Bex's Basement: 10.** **Alt, Write about being scared of something, but doing it anyway.**

 **The Insane House Challenge: Harry Potter**


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